


Minstrel's Warning

by Socratease



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socratease/pseuds/Socratease
Summary: On the far edge of fate, a beast heaves itself out of an ocean of blood.What songs do they sing of the Warrior of Light?
Kudos: 4





	Minstrel's Warning

Seek the shore, benighted fools.  
Wade to the edge of that distant land.  
The price for one step is to crush ten thousand grains of sand beneath your feet.  
To walk with the Warrior of Light.

Stride this ocean of blood  
towards that distant shore.  
There is no current save  
the blood that wells up between your toes  
with each crushing step  
and the wake of your passing  
as you walk with the Warrior of Light.

The ocean heaves as the beast  
drags itself upon that distant shore.  
Its blood-soaked hide is banner-cloth and treaty-scroll.  
All around, gentle hands gouge its flesh  
and carve weapons from its bones.  
"It does not bleed," they say.  
They wet their clothing with their tears  
and dab the wounds with salted rags  
and dig through the blood.  
"Beneath this hide there is only duty!  
Such strength! Such righteous fury!"  
They step back  
lest they drown in the next wave, and cry  
"We walk with the Warrior of Light!"

Standards pierce its battered chest.  
From each pole hangs a list  
of deeds grown larger with every step  
and at their ends, historians  
grope blindly in the blood until  
their hands find a strip of red.  
They pull hard, and nod.  
"This is good. This is right."

The beast reaches out.  
This blind and helpless flailing  
of desperate grasping hands  
carves a new legend in the sand  
and a wave of blood  
chokes the thrashing beast.  
With each heave, the beast shifts a hair's breadth up the shore  
crushing ten thousand grains of sand beneath the weight  
of the Warrior of Light.

On the far edge of fate, a beast heaves itself out of an ocean of blood  
with hands that throttle gods.  
Reach out, ye floundering masses!  
Grasp not those hands  
which know no gentle touch.  
Meet not its eyes  
lest it know its newfound burden.  
Touch not its heart  
lest you break the skin of that drum  
on which pounds the marching-beat  
of all the world's armies.  
Grasp a tail, an ankle!  
Reach out! Clasp firm your hands!  
Gouge that tender flesh! Grind those shattered bones!  
Drive deep your standard!  
Weep!  
Hold on!

Lest you drown in the wake  
of the Warrior of Light.


End file.
